


This is the Sound

by Randominity



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, First Kiss, M/M, Murder, Satire, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-17
Updated: 2012-09-17
Packaged: 2017-11-14 10:43:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/514387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Randominity/pseuds/Randominity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>It wasn't that he pined; Harry simply waited. He'd waited for what seemed like ages and he'd wait for more, and he'd get on with living and go to parties and make friends and fuck girls and the fans were wrong because he didn't come back to Louis in the end. There was no Louis for him to come back to.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	This is the Sound

**Author's Note:**

> So some stuff went down on Twitter, and there is plenty of angst being dealt with in fic form. This is sort of a... satire, taking _certain_ (not all) ideas in fanon to their logical conclusion, gone horribly wrong because everything I write turns to devastating angst? Maybe I didn't make the word "satire" bold enough.

As it happened, the tenuous thread of Harry's hope ended with a bang, no whimpers to be found. It wasn't that he pined; the fans had got that part wrong, for all they saw through and figured out correctly. It wasn't that he pined; Harry simply waited. He'd waited for what seemed like ages and he'd wait for more, and he'd get on with living and go to parties and make friends and fuck girls and the fans were wrong because he didn't come back to Louis in the end. There was no Louis for him to come back to.

The tweets came without warning, or any indication that Louis had been nearing the edge of his tolerance. They'd had it out before, expressed frustration between them and laughed at some of the more egregious theories being posted online, and Harry had seen some of the things that were said to Eleanor, to Louis' mum, to his sisters. “Can you believe some of this, Harry?” Louis would ask, pointing and shaking his head in dismay, and Harry could only shrug. Gemma was older, and he'd already apologised to Caroline for the abuse she received, so what else was to be done?

It was just that Louis had been so firm about it, and that, Harry supposed, was what he needed in the end. A clean break. A final answer. He supposed he'd waited for so long he'd grown numb with it, and felt cold instead of pain, a strange sort of clarity. Maybe now he could finally do what he'd avoided doing all along, for fear of the reaction he'd get. Now he knew the reaction he'd get, and so away went the fear.

He gave himself some time to think about it, let himself sleep on the idea he was forming in his mind. It would be simple enough, effective enough, get the message through to Louis, let him understand. He didn't have to make a big deal about it, and he wanted to give Louis space, wanted to let him settle down and start to feel comfortable again. He'd waited so long already, so he gave Louis a couple of days of peace, and then he rang him, asked if he could come round and chat for a bit.

Louis met him at the door in pajama bottoms and a t-shirt and a wide grin. “Come right in,” he told Harry. “We're just watching movies – I'll do up another bowl of popcorn.”

“Nah, I can't stay long,” Harry said, shoving his hands down into his pockets. His fingers brushed plastic and he rubbed on it just a little, feeling his palms start to sweat. “Told Nick I'd come by, listen to some tunes. I just-- wanted to stop in and see you, I guess. Can you just talk here for a bit?”

“Sure,” Louis said. “El's so engrossed, she probably won't even notice.” He rolled his eyes, but fondly. “Well, come here, then,” he said, spreading his arms wide. “It's good to see you.” Harry pulled his hands free and leaned into him and held on, rocked Louis through the hug and squeezed him a couple of times until Louis burrowed his face into Harry's shoulder the way he always did. Harry slid his hand up to the base of Louis' skull as they pulled apart, letting his fingers brush over the short hair there, and Louis's hands came to a rest over Harry's shoulders. “How've you been? I didn't even hear from you yesterday; did you get my texts?”

He had. “Yeah, I guess I was just...” Harry pulled a thoughtful face. “I don't know, I must've been distracted or something and forgot to get back to you.” He grinned. “Did you miss me?”

“Always,” Louis smiled, and patted him on the shoulders before withdrawing his hands.

“It didn't seem like you would after last weekend,” Harry ventured, and Louis had the good grace to cringe.

“Oh, you know that wasn't about you,” Louis said. “I was just so-- _tired_ of it, like. Like I can't speak up for myself or something. I mean, if that doesn't stop fans from saying stuff, I guess...” he shrugged. “I guess there's not much I can do, after that.” He made a move to cross his arms over himself and Harry reached out to catch him before he did it.

“Don't you ever think, though,” he said, fingers skipping over Louis' forearm as he guided Louis' arms straight again. “We maybe kind of... gave them the idea? To say that stuff?”

“What, the fans?” Louis caught Harry's fingertips with his own, curled them up so they were hooked together for a moment before dropping his arm. “I don't really see why. I mean, we joked about it, but we've always been on about something or the other. And it's not like we ever sat down and said we're very seriously in love or anything.”

“But fans would say that,” Harry reasoned, “and we let them, and we never said they'd got it wrong.”

“But I do love you,” Louis said plaintively. “Just 'cause it's not, like, _romantic_ or whatever doesn't mean I don't.”

Harry stepped closer and reached out to touch Louis' fringe. “I know,” he murmured, gaze dropping to the shadow of Louis' lashes against his cheek, the way he shifted from one bare foot to the other under Harry's scrutiny.

“I just didn't want them thinking that,” Louis went on. “That I didn't love you just because it wasn't the way they said it was.” He shook his head. “Is that so bad?”

“It's just, you never said,” Harry told him, sweeping his thumb over Louis' brow. “That it was a joke, or the way you meant to love me. How were they supposed to know?”

Louis huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “I did say, Harry. I said so many times.”

“You never said to _me_ ,” Harry said, voice breaking around the lump in his throat. “You never said that's all it was... to _me_.”

Louis frowned and leaned back, away from Harry's touch, but caught Harry's hand in his own. “Harry,” he said softly, and Harry hated the tone he used then, quiet and concerned as his eyes searched Harry's face for answers. “What did you think I--” his eyes widened. “My _god_.”

Harry glanced away, smirking uncomfortably. “I guess I sort of... bought the story, I don't know.”

“Why didn't you say anything?” Louis squeezed his hand. “Harry, you never _said_. I thought we were just--”

“I know,” Harry said, pulling his hand free and rubbing it over his hair, mussing it over his forehead and then bringing it back roughly into place. “I know.”

“I didn't,” Louis told him. “I didn't know, I'm sorry,” and Harry shook his head. Guilt was plain on Louis' face, and concern and sadness and nothing like regret, and Harry sighed. He'd known before Louis had said anything, but each confirmation stung, little needle pricks in the cold pit of his stomach. “Haz,” Louis said sadly, and leaned up with his arms around Harry's neck, pulling him back in for another hug.

Harry smiled into the warm crook of Louis' neck. “It's all right, Lou, really,” he said, settling into a sort of peace. He'd be all right, he knew. He'd have this moment of understanding to cherish, this fond memory of Louis' sympathy. He pulled back from the hug. “Hey, listen,” he said, chuckling a bit at the cheek of it, giddy because he had nothing left to lose. “I'm all right, I just--” he shrugged, shoulders moving under Louis' hands. “I always... you can say no,” he said, hurriedly, and Louis squeezed him with his hands, smiling.

“What? Come on; you can tell me.”

“I've wanted to kiss you,” Harry said. “Since. I don't know when, and I guess. I thought it was just gonna happen one day, like, you'd just get too close and I'd just be there, and.” He blew out a gust of air out through his fringe, watching Louis' face for a reaction. “I've always wanted to, so. Can I, just once? I know you don't feel like that,” he added. “I know, but. It's just once. It's all I ask.”

Louis kept his face still, but Harry could nearly hear the gears turning from where he stood. Over the course of a moment, Harry knew Louis could have decided that he shouldn't, because he wanted to be completely faithful to Eleanor, or that he would, but they'd need to move to another location in case Eleanor walked in and saw them, or that he would, but he'd be tense and awkward for a myriad of reasons. “Yeah,” Louis said, nodding slightly. “Yeah, Harry, sure.”

It was the closest thing to a flood of emotion Harry had felt since he'd made his decision, and Harry swayed with the warm sensation of it, closing his eyes briefly. He moved his hands to cup the sides of Louis' jaw and Louis tilted his head back, watching as Harry drew closer before his eyes fluttered closed, and that, Harry decided, was how he would always want to remember this. Harry kept his eyes open through the first brush of their lips, chaste and dry; then he parted his lips and Louis met him halfway, letting Harry catch his upper lip in both of Harry's.

Harry dipped back in for more, kissing and pulling back and watching Louis' lips get wetter after he slid his tongue between them once Louis opened wider. He didn't know how long Louis would let him go on with this, advancing farther and farther every time he descended, Louis' hands sliding up Harry's back to rest on his shoulderblades, until Harry turned his head and slotted their mouths together and swept his tongue inside Louis' mouth and met his own. A flare of arousal started in Harry's belly and he wondered if Louis felt anything at all, but it was a bit late to think of that.

He moved one hand to cup the back of Louis' skull and let go of Louis with the other, reaching down between them to his jeans pocket. His fingers curled around cool plastic and he drew it up and out, slowly, pushing against the leather casing, feeling Louis' fingertips dig into his shoulderblades, eyes still closed.

Louis jerked and his eyes flew open when Harry pushed in with the blade of his knife, but he stayed silent, with Harry's hand pressed to the back of his head and Harry's mouth covering his own. His hands fisted in Harry's jacket as he tried to pull away, brought a knee up sluggishly and Harry bumped it away easily with his own, withdrawing to thrust in again. This time Louis made a soft, choked sound, eyebrows pulling up in the middle as his hands came round to clutch at Harry's lapels, now trying to hold close rather than fight away, and Harry tasted copper. He withdrew his mouth from Louis' slack one, listened to the shallow gasps he was making. Louis stared up at him and his mouth worked soundlessly, breath hitching until after several attempts Harry realised he was asking, “why?” and Harry thought, detachedly, _this is the sound of you losing your breath over me_.

“I'm in love with you,” Harry told him quietly, pulling his knife out and forcing it in yet again, and Louis whimpered and squeezed his eyes shut, pushing tears down the sides of his face. His legs stopped supporting him and Harry let him buckle, slowly easing him down until he was leaning over Louis' prone body. He got to see, then, the massive amount of blood already spreading across Louis' t-shirt, sticky against his own stomach where he'd held Louis pressed against him. Louis' hands fluttered weakly up to the wounds, palming them, trying to apply pressure, but when Harry put his hands over Louis', they were already cold, and Harry knew it was a futile effort.

“I think I loved you too much,” Harry said, moving up to kneel by Louis' head, stroking his fringe and trying to smooth the creases in his forehead, trailing his bloodied fingers through the tracks of tears running into Louis' temples. “I'm sorry; I didn't mean to,” he told him, watching Louis' eyes grow dimmer with pain and then flutter into unconsciousness, when he stopped fighting for air. He kissed the top of Louis' head and let him go, sheathing the knife in his pocket and letting himself quietly out the front door. He hadn't heard a sound from Eleanor, and he was grateful for the small mercy that she hadn't yet wondered what they were getting up to in the foyer. Just a few minutes more, he thought.

He drove to a nearby petrol station and used the toilet there, washing off his hands and his knife, though it was merely a gesture of cleanliness – he knew well enough he'd left bloody handprints on Louis' door, on his car. But his hands were clean when he texted Nick and apologised that he wouldn't make it over tonight after all. He texted the boys as well; far too impersonal, he knew, but he didn't trust his voice not to betray him. After that, an apology to his Mum that had his eyes tearing up for the first time that evening. He thought that odd; thought it was more than likely that Louis was dead on the floor of his foyer now, and he wondered if he would feel that loss later, or if he'd already finished mourning while Louis was still alive.

He thought briefly of commenting on Twitter, but the only thing he could think of at the moment was that the human body was seventy percent water, and even he thought that too morbid to tweet on a night like this. He ignored the texts he was getting now, buzzing through, and called the number he'd programmed in before he'd left his flat.

“My name is Harry Styles,” he said. “I'd like to report a murder.”


End file.
